It's A Start
by Sue Shay
Summary: First version of the beginning of "Life With Lisbon" before I changed it to the suit-buying scene. My take on 05x05 Red Dawn


_**Author's Note:**__ This is the original opening chapter for Life With Lisbon. It's unedited, so I apologize now because you'll find a lot of sloppy sentence structure, repetitive sounds, etc. Maybe even a spelling error or two. I was looking through my files trying to find my notes and stumbled across it._

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**I don't own anything Mentalist except the order of the words I put together to depict what might have taken place before and during Jane meeting Lisbon.**

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Patrick Jane's money didn't go far.

He didn't have a lot of it, for one thing. After so much time locked away in a mental institution, all his assets were tied up with lawyers and escrow and a legal tangle that rivaled the Gordian knot.

The usual Alexandrian solution of just cutting through the knot – also known as thinking outside the box – wasn't available to him at the moment. Back in the day, he once had the ability to think rings around most people, people who he thought of as 'marks'. If there was a con to be run, he was the guy to run it. And if he chose not to participate in someone else's con, at the very least he could explain how to improve the operation for better efficiency and return. His cousin Eddie Jane called him the con-doctor.

At the moment, he felt like he couldn't con a priest out of a piece of gum.

Those who knew him now considered him mentally incompetent. Those who didn't know him… well, he wasn't mentally or emotionally competent enough to deal with those people and he avoided them for the most part. The protective core buried deep inside him was barely keeping him from curling into a ball under a dark bridge. He was functioning. Just not much more than that.

Which brought him back to why he couldn't get any of his money. He didn't feel strong enough to deal with lawyers and bankers at the moment. It was easier to shop at the charity second-hand store for clothes and to visit the local soup kitchen for his meals. Sometimes they even had hot tea.

He knew what sapped his strength the most - the thought of Angela and Charlotte, lying in pools of blood spilled because of his own arrogance and stupidity. Cradling the hopeless idea of finding the madman who killed them battled his desire to slit his own throat and die with them. The war was exhausting.

At last he found strength to get to the main police headquarters to speak with the person in charge of the Jane family murder case. Detective Elliot of the Sacramento Police Homicide Division gave him just enough attention to scan his wrinkled shirt and slightly dirty pants and dismiss him as another crazed relative of a murder victim. The SacPD detective made no effort to disguise his relief when he sent Jane to the California Bureau of Investigation with instructions to ask for Agent Lisbon.

Patrick passed through CBI security with a lot of scrutiny heaped on him. Looking as he did, the guards probably thought he was there to panhandle for a drink. But when he asked where Agent Lisbon could be found, the guards' demeanor changed. Unmistakable expressions of respect came to their faces.

For most of his life, he prided himself in his ability to read people, but since Angela and Charlotte's death, he couldn't garner enough drive to care anymore. Now even in his worst despondency, there was no missing the significance of their deference, and he wondered why it elicited such a response. On the ride in the elevator, the thought crossed his mind that maybe he needed to straighten up his appearance. This Lisbon guy might be a challenge. Unfortunately the car arrived at his requested floor before he'd done more than tuck in the front of his shirt.

When he was in the hospital or in the shelter or the soup kitchen, everyone wanted to assist him. They couldn't do much more than keep him from killing himself or starving to death, but they offered without request. He was a charity case.

Now he was dealing with cops who were being polite and professional but they had no interest in helping him. Maybe being a bit of a hard luck case might help. If he came on too strong, they'd refer him to a case worker just to get him out of their hair.

No, he would try _harmless_ to see what it got him

What it got him was five feet four inches of tough, firm female cop. All no-nonsense vibe and a thick protective personal-space shield that radiated from the badge she wore at her hip. There was a _woman_ in charge of his wife's murder investigation. In charge of _all_ the Red John cases. The old feeling of Patrick Jane Versus the World crept back into his soul, sparking recognition of an irresistible challenge. He decided then and there, he'd find a way to inject and insinuate himself into the situation. He needed to be involved with the investigation if he was going to find Angela and Charlotte's killer.

This was going to be good.

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Teresa Lisbon kept him around like a stray dog that she didn't have time to take to the pound but didn't want to release back onto the street. He sensed that as long as he didn't leave muddy paw prints around the place, she might even learn to tolerate him.

Then out of the blue, she asked for his help determining which of the suspects on their current case was lying to investigators. He was hesitant at first, afraid she didn't understand he wasn't a psychic. He couldn't pretend that anymore. It cost him too much, his beautiful wife and daughter.

Lisbon persisted, begging for his skill at reading people, insisting that his gift could do some good. It started small but soon his brain buzzed with the challenge running an operation on a bunch of marks. He reveled in the thrill of the con.

No one was more surprised than he was when it _worked_. It worked so well, the CBI offered him a job.

He adjusted the official access badge that was clipped to the pocket of his new suit, reading it upside down. _Patrick Jane, Consultant._ It felt good.

For the first time in more than a year, he could claim to be having a nice day.


End file.
